


Smile For Me, Baby

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Fuzzy Antlers, Fuzzy Ears, and Fuzzy Feelings [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Deer Marco, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, i just really love my so super pining marco okay thanks, jean is kinda being angsty but its all good i promise, lowkey flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Cause I really need you to right now.</p><p>Marco likes to see Jean smile and it's often that he's the one that's sparking up each of the larger ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smile For Me, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE
> 
> I told no one that I started this (which I awkwardly believe led to me actually getting it done, wow). So no one, literally at all, was anticipating this.
> 
> Also this is a sorry gift bc it's fucking hard for me to get that first chapter out. Dunno why but it's really kicking my ass.
> 
> Yes, this was entirely Coco's fault bc I went and reread [their fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5787376?view_adult=true) about Marco pining and well....  
> (Sorry my version didn't have him jacking off :( I know it's just not as exciting.)
> 
> If you don't know what the hell Deer Marco is, you can click [here](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/tagged/deer-marco) for all that's been talked about it or [here ](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/tagged/deer-art)for the art specifically. 
> 
> Thanks for reading I hope you enjoy.

There’s… something special about the way that Jean’s mouth moves when he’s talking. It’s just… interesting. It’s captivating to watch and see how he forms words and the way the ends of his lips twitch up when he’s about to laugh. It’s something I never really noticed until I watched him talk - something that just isn’t as _fascinating_ on friends and family (I watched them, after my realization, just to be sure) as it is on him.

 

I always notice when he’s talking about his school friends (right now, a girl with a name I can’t remember, it’s weird for what I’m used to). I think it’s because his eyes will have a different kind of light than when he’s showing me things, or flicking my ears and stroking my freckles (apparently those aren’t “normal freckles” he says). It’s a kind of light that’s distant and close to burning out, like a flame left to die on it’s own, with nothing to feed on.

 

It tugs at my heart in the way that hurts more than I like, so I try to focus on other things; like his mouth.

 

I find myself bending forward - just a little - to look at it, grinning to myself at the way it pauses, open and gentle, when he tries to think of a word or phrase. I find it strange that despite how often he almost smiles, his lips fall into a familiar drop, downturned and tight when he stops talking. It’s a habit, I’m sure, but he has friends that, while occasionally he tells me stories of them bothering him, he gets along with.

 

It’s just… odd, to see him almost… _unhappy_ in his neutral state of place, of mind.

 

Now, with that far off burn in his eyes, he is talking about that girl, how she cracked some joke that had another - a boy - spitting his milk across the table and into a passerby’s face. He smiles, but it’s not as large as it usually tends to be, or really can be when we talk of other things, but it’s still a smile and it still strikes something in my chest that hurts the way I like it to.

 

Jean goes on with his story and I fall out of it without trying to, watching his cheek strain when he half smirks on the side that isn’t his natural side to smirk on (left, when he’s playing with my fingers, looking at me through his lashes before tapping me harshly on the forehead and running off, telling me I’m “It”) that I recognize as a nervous quirk (right, and the words that are spilling out his lips are moving too fast to match their meaning, they can’t just really mean he’s “fine” and it’s “not an issue”, even if he is leaning close and shoving at my knees). He’s stopped talking for a second and I try to shake out of whatever my mind had fallen into without doing so physically, lest he notice with the way he’s staring (he does it a lot, but it bothers him when I do the same to him, which is weird, but _human_ , so I guess I’ll never really understand it.). I know he wants to say something else, so I wait and I watch him back, hopefully getting it across that I’m listening (actually listening, this time), and ready for whatever he has to hit me with.

 

It takes him a moment, to collect himself or whatever humans need to do before they talk, but eventually he sighs, scoots closer, and lets it out, “So, can I just, you know, touch those or something?” His eyes make a motion above my head and it’s not hard for me to understand that he wants to touch my antlers - it’s a common thing, actually - even if he only barely addresses them.

 

“Sure,” I answer with a smile and slowly duck my head, continuing to watch him even if it strains my eyes a little. His eyes follow mine as he reaches forward, to drift a single finger along one branch. They’re hooded, as he’s looking down, and filled with a kind of look that makes me tingle all over, makes me feel warm, makes me feel a little more… wanted in his presence.

 

Which is peculiar, because around him I always feel wanted, I always know he likes to listen and talk to me, likes to sit with me, and I make sure he knows I feel the same. Yet with this look, it’s different. It’s not just being wanted, but desired -

 

It feels, for a moment, that our connection, the one between us, is stronger than before. It feels like he’s tugging on it and wants me to tug back, perhaps even deepen it further.

 

I just don’t know _how_ to.

 

(Human courting is so bizarre, I still don’t understand it and Jean makes it incredibly hard to pick up sometimes.)

 

So, instead, I continue to look up at him, as his hand pulls away but his eyes do not. I watch as out of the corner of my eye his hand comes down, closer to me than to his lap, and traces along my nose, down the front of it, and settles on my bottom lip. As it makes its journey, my heart pounds louder and harder with each inch it progresses, until my eyes are wide and everything is still, and Jean, eyes still dark and something else, seems amused in my shock.

 

And then he plucks my lip like a stringed instrument and gives a smile - not tightlipped, but pleased, unlike before. My heart stops at it, a real smile today, pure and not distant. He blinks at me and pulls away, leaving me still stuck and frozen, before making an offhand comment about how he really doesn’t want to see the girl with the funny name at school tomorrow.

 

When I don’t move, even after he speaks, he glances at me again and his smile turns knowing, before he looks to the ground, away, and it grows larger. He shifts a little, rubbing his hands together, little camellia pink finding its way to the tops of his cheeks, spreading to his ears, and he mentions he is cold. It is chilly and I quickly agree, straightening up, spurred on to actually move, to interact, unable to keep my eyes off the large stretch of his lips.

 

I motion behind me, in the direction of my cabin, and try not to seem to excited when I offer that we can warm up, there. I can start a fire, and he knows, as well as that I have lots of blankets (something I bought after a late - really late - night realization a few weeks back) for him to snuggle up in.

 

And we’ll be alone, which he _also_ knows.

 

He shakes his head and I catch my breath, glad he isn’t looking at me for once because I don’t want him to know I am _disappointed_. He answers in words after a moment, afterwards slowly giving me his hand as he does not look at me, color in his cheeks brighter than before - vibrant and quite pretty.

 

“Actually, it’s just my hands. An-And yours are always hot - warm, actually - and we could hold them? I guess? Hold… hands?”

 

Swallowing as I try to bite back my giddy smile, I quickly take his hands in my own. I don’t really know what I want to do with them at first, but a couple thoughts have to be shaken away after I come up with them, brain working into over drive.

 

I curse that I don’t have a coat on to hold his stone-cold fingers in (jean pockets would be too awkward to try and keep there - much too close to a place he likely wouldn’t want to touch through pocket liners and my boxers).

 

After just a moment or two I yank his hands up to press against my cheeks, my palms coming to cover the backs of them, and drink in the startled gaze he jerks up at my suddenness. It soon melts to something more content and fond than surprise, eyelids dropping to make himself look so much more shy again, as his fingers spread themselves further over my cheekbones.

  
I find that the cold that’s passing to my skin has actually the smallest part in my shivers.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write fluff without it being super sappy sorry. 
> 
> Here is my [tumblr](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/). Here is Coco's [tumblr](http://c0cunt.tumblr.com/). Here is Awwdree's [tumblr.](http://awwdree.tumblr.com/) We all three created this au and if you ask us about it we will happily answer and thank you for indulging us in it.
> 
> Since you made it this far, please considering leaving a kudos and if you really want (even if under an anonymous name) a comment about literally anything to do with this fic. Thank you so much for your time.


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